


Quoth the Raven

by Juliette1713



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliette1713/pseuds/Juliette1713
Summary: Sometime in season 3...
Relationships: Joel Fleischman/Maggie O'Connell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. 'Tis Some Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime in season 3...

"Morning, Marilyn," Joel mumbled as he shuffled past her desk, grabbing the mass of papers in his inbox at the corner of her desk, a mug of lukewarm coffee already against his lips. 

He didn't normally bring one in from home like this - he'd just been too distracted to set it down before leaving. He'd suffered the whole way in for it, too. His ancient truck, of course, lacked cupholders. And every possible other amenity. He'd had to balance the mug on his dash, watching with alarm as it sloshed while he navigated the slapdash, uneven road that led into town and then along the pothole-pockmarked gauntlet of Main Street. If this were New York, the DOT commissioner would have been indicted years ago. Or shot. As always, though, this sure as hell wasn't New York. Coffee'd splattered out several times and had started to dribble down the front of the glove compartment. Not that it mattered much; O'Connell hadn't ever given him the key to open it anyway. And he'd only be driving this damn thing another 2 years. God willing.

This morning had started out normal otherwise. He'd gotten a good amount of sleep for once, actually managed to have milk on hand and a clean bowl for cereal, he hadn't nicked himself shaving, and the hot water had even outlasted his shampoo, giving him a couple of extra minutes to just enjoy the rare sensation of being warm in his shower. Come to think of it, it had started out as a banner day for Joel Fleischman. Until the damn bird.

At work now, he headed for the hall leading to his office and pictured the little guy again. Or girl. Who could tell. And what the hell did it matter. Still, he couldn't quite shake the thing from his mind. It had just been sitting there. And call him soft hearted, call him weak, but he felt something strange about it when he saw it. The thing was just sitting there and looking at him, with an unwavering gaze. Not that nervous, jittery one most animals had, and certainly not in a threatening or even frightened way. Just steady, certain. Intelligent, even. Like it knew something. Knew _him_. Needed him maybe. He tried to scare the thing off, slamming his door closed suddenly, hoping the noise would startle it enough it'd fly away. It didn't. It was still there, sitting and not moving, when he cracked the door open to peek through again. 

It was then that he sat down at his threshold and looked at it from closer range. It just looked back at him. He tried to decide whether it was injured or in pain but couldn't tell. It didn't seem to be, and he didn't want to touch it for fear of injuring it more if it was - he had no idea how to handle a bird safely. He'd shot one once, hunting, and even operated on it. It died in the end. Did this one about know that? Was that why it was here? Was Joel marked as a murderer amongst birds? It didn't seem to view him as a lethal threat; it was just watchful. Pensive. 

Joel sighed and then moved to lie prone, getting all the way down to its level. It just kept staring. Joel stayed awhile, trying to figure out what, if anything, he should do. Nothing seemed obvious. Joel's closeness didn't change the bird's position or attitude any. It just kept staring at him. So he stared right back. It was thinking, he could tell that, but he'd never be able to guess what, nor was it likely to ever tell him. It was a lot like half the conversations he had with Marilyn at work.

Thinking, as he had in that moment, of work, he realized after awhile that it was well past time for him to have left to go there, and he was no closer to figuring this out than when he'd first found the bird. Plus, he was laying on his front porch like an idiot. He rose and stepped carefully over it as he exited his cabin, at which point the thing stood, turned 180 degrees around, and settled back on the ground and off its feet, facing now towards the lake out front. Towards where he'd moved. If he weren't as smart as he was, he almost would have thought it had moved to watch him walk out to his truck. It sure seemed to be doing just that.

He got halfway to his vehicle, sighed again, stopped walking, rolled his eyes, and looked skyward as if the heavens above might explain the ridiculous prank being played on him. Joel then turned to walk back to the porch steps. Grudgingly.

"What?" He heard himself say. God, he hoped no one was within earshot of this bizarre behavior of his. Talking to fucking wildlife, like this. 

"What are you doing here? You're a bird - go! Go and...fly or eat seeds or hunt for bugs or whatever it is you things do all day. Don't sit on my porch, just staring at me like that." It blinked at him. He softened his tone, worried he'd been too harsh and then embarrassed his impulse had been to tone it down. For a bird. "I mean, do you need help or something, is that why you're here?"

Of course, the thing didn't respond. He didn't know if it would worry him more or less if it actually had. It was bad enough that he asked the question in the first place, since the implication could only be that something inside him thought it might answer.

"Really. Come on. I have to go to work now. And this is aberrant, abnormal avian behavior. Which I'm sure you know..." It just stared. He took a terser tone. "Look, sit here until you feel better or whatever but when I come home, you'd better have flown away. Okay? Okay. I'm going now. So..."

He didn't finish his thought, completely embarrassed about his temporary mental meltdown. He just headed back for his truck, feeling stupid, and left. He worried about the damn thing the whole drive in, though.

After he greeted her, Marilyn didn't even look up from her knitting. He felt her return 'hello' anyway, even though she didn't say it. They had a comfortable silence they'd established between them. More on her end than his, but he was learning to appreciate her silence more as time dragged on. Or tolerate it at least.

As he reached the door of his own office, he stopped, and then backtracked ten steps into his waiting room. Marilyn's knitting needles were clacking gently together in a quick, decisive rhythm. He'd almost gotten used to this as the soundtrack of his mornings, now more than three years into his sentence.

"Hey. Uh, Marilyn? You got a minute?"

"Yes." She set her knitting needs down beside the skein of yarn on her desk and turned to give him her undivided attention and discomfiting eye contact. It reminded him eerily of the bird, just as it had of her.

"Okay, so ravens. You seem to know a lot about them. What they mean, I mean. Symbolically, not ornithologically. That story you told me about the raven bringing the sun - _stealing_ the sun, I guess you said it was - and then there's the whole raven thing midwinter that you guys do out here..."

Marilyn just held his eye contact placidly. Silently. Her ability to commit to silence in conversation for such lengths of time was still deeply unsettling to his garrulous disposition, all this time into knowing her. 

"Right," he said, answering for her and giving up on the discussion. "Nevermind." He turned and headed back down the hallway to his office.

"Were you visited?" God, this whole thing was starting to sound like a close encounter with aliens, right down to the terminology. Then again, he wanted this answer.

He stopped in his doorway for the second time in so many minutes, wondering whether his need for information outweighed his pride. He turned and walked back to his waiting room. She was looking at him, waiting, still expectant-seeming.

"I just mean hypothetically. What if one had showed up?" No response. Not even a changed expression on her end. "Not just out in the trees or something. Or flying. At someone's house."

"What was it doing?"

"I don't know, Marilyn," Joel said, dramatically flinging both arms out wide and turning around in a slow circle to feign extreme frustration. How could he make this seem more like it was coming from a place of general interest than a pointed a series of questions obviously about himself? He didn't need her to know he'd been talking to birds. As if Marilyn could somehow be convinced that he just woke up today, suddenly curious enough about ravens to ask her this shit out of nowhere. This was a losing game. Even so, he tried to keep this apersonal seeming. "Say it flew right up to you or something. Landed on your doorstep."

"Ohhhh," she said. He waited. And waited. That was the whole sentence, not just its opening? Damn it. He'd have to keep pushing.

"Oh what? If you saw a raven, and it did that, what would that mean to you? Not that this happened to me, but..." _Great cover, Joel_ , he thought sarcastically. _She won't suspect a thing_. 

"Totem."

"Huh?"

"Your raven. It's a totem."

"What, like the pole?"

"Totems are symbols. It had a message for you, your bird." She'd said 'you' several times now in response to his lunatic story. So much for making it seem hypothetical. "Did you ask it why it came?"

"No, Marilyn," he lied defensively, trying to sound dismissive of the very idea. "I'm not an ornithologist; I don't speak bird. And it isn't 'mine'. The only message it had for me was that it was suffering from some kind of an avian malady. I almost stepped on the thing when I opened my door this morning. It was just sitting there on my mat, staring at me." _Just another bird I spent twenty minutes talking to first thing in the morning on my front doorstep with eye contact that would put yours to shame, Marilyn. No big deal_.

"It _sat_?" Her face still bordered on expressionless, but Joel saw her eyes widen ever so subtly. Surprising Marilyn was never, ever a good sign. He worked to stay casual-seeming. Disaffected by her sudden surprise. 

"Yeah. Or laid down. Or whatever they do. Point is, its feet were folded under it, it wasn't standing, and its underside was against the ground. Why, is that bad? Sitting? Does that mean something?" He waited for her response. Nothing. Her eyes were still wide. "I'm just worried it was sick, Marilyn. In need of a vet's care. And don't tell me I'm a doctor because we've had this debate before a hundred times. I'm not an animal doctor. Birds have hollow bones and gizzards and wings and beaks and...well, a bunch of other stuff I didn't study at Columbia. So I wasn't going to be much help to the thing. But I kind of...I don't know. Felt bad for it. I think it needed help. Not _my_ help. But someone's."

Marilyn's face resumed its usual resting calmness and she was nodding slowly. "It came to help you."

"Oh yeah? With what? Seed consumption?" Joel found himself yet again losing patience with Marilyn's wholly incomplete answers and the nearly one-sided conversation he'd found himself in with her yet again. Then, he realized his response implied an agreement with her assessment. "And no it didn't. It probably flew into one of my windows and got stunned by the impact. I should have moved it into the bushes or something when I left - it probably ended up some eagle's lunch."

"Eagles won't eat ravens," Marilyn said, reaching for the schedule book, obviously losing interest in their conversation. 

"Well, I guarantee you anything will eat anything if it's hungry enough and if it's easy enough prey. A sick bird on my welcome mat is like setting out a doggie bag for a raptor."

"It wasn't sick. It had a message," she said, flipping slowly through the appointment book. "Ravens carry secrets in the feathers of their wings."

That was more along the lines of what he'd been looking for. Not that it was helpful. "Oh yeah? Then what was it? The secret?"

Marilyn shrugged. "I can't tell you."

"Oh thanks a lot. I come to you for advice and now you're going to leave me guessing like this? What, is this some native Tlingit thing you're refusing me entry into? I'll remind you, Mrs. Noanuk adopted me - made me an honorary member. So if I'm in the club and everything, you gotta tell me." Did he just try to pull tribal rank on her? This was getting sad. "C'mon, you can't translate the message for me?"

"It's not my secret." She gave him a pointed look.

"Well it's not mine, either. I have no secrets anymore. My life's an open book. I can't so much as change my aftershave without half the town noticing and weighing in with their unsolicited opinions."

"The new stuff is better," she said simply.

"That's wasn't my point," he said, giving her a withering look in return. "Why do you assume there's a secret at work here, anyway?"

She reached into the top drawer of the desk for a pen to set out on top of the open appointment book. "Because he sat for you. Just like the raven brought light to the world, he brings light to people. Shows them hidden thoughts. Secrets." Her eyes were back on his. "Things they have trouble facing." He hated when she did that - made him feel accused.

"Well, apart from the potentially rabid black bears that seem to have invaded my trash cans and O'Connell's plane on a particularly turbulent day, I'm not sure what Alaska still has at this point that I lack the intestinal fortitude to face. But I appreciate the insight, Marilyn. The raven came because thinks I have a secret. Great."

She just smirked in return. It went on long enough he started to worry. And whine.

"What? Come on, Marilyn. You're really not gonna tell me? Is it bad news or something? The bird being there? Is that what you're trying to tell me about this? Or not telling me? That the bird's an omen - a _bad_ omen? For me? That's not it, is it? You have to at least tell me if I'm in danger."

"It's just telling you something it thinks you should know. Could be someone else's secret. If you don't have any."

"Why tell me, then? I'm not interested in anyone else's inner life or the skeletons people have in their respective closets."

"It's nice he came. Only worthy people get visited."

"Oh, great. I'll go update my resume with my exciting new accolade." 

She pulled a magazine out of the top desk drawer and started paging through it, ostensibly announcing the end of the conversation. He clearly wasn't getting anything more out of Marilyn today. He decided to give up and head back to his office. He was three issues behind on his JAMAs as it was, which was more pressing than a gossiping raven at his door this morning.

The front door chimed before he managed to round the corner, announcing a new entrant to the dead conversation. He turned around from his office threshold for the third time today.

"Hey, Fleischman. Brought you those tongue depressers from Sitka."

Ah, it had to be _this_ entrant, though, did it? She was standing just inside his front door, box against her hip. He could only see her silhouette, the light from the windows was shining so bright behind her. It was actually an entrancing sight from a purely aesthetic standpoint, her form framed by the morning light. Then again, not being able to see and read her face had him at an immediate disadvantage, conversationally. Who the hell ever knew what kind of a mood she'd show up in? Certainly now him. He felt himself smile. Screw it - he decided to push his luck. Marilyn's recalcitrance and disinclination to argue had gotten tiresome. Maggie, on the other hand, was fun to annoy.

"Took you long enough. I asked for 'em two weeks ago, O'Connell. You get lost on the way there or something?"

 _God, you're obnoxious_.

"Well, thanks, I sure appreciate that, O'Connell," he retorted sarcastically. She was in a _bad_ mood. He smiled more. This could be lots of fun. He hoped he didn't have a patient first thing, so he could give this argument due time.

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised and stepping forward to set the package down on Marilyn's desk. She dropped her arms to her sides. "Oh, well, you're welcome, then, Fleischman. Hi, Marilyn." 

"Hi," Marilyn said quietly in return. 

Damn. His snitty little retort had been somehow misinterpreted as sincere and had taken the wind right out of their argument's sails unexpectedly, which was the opposite of his objective. He decided to remind her that he _was_ obnoxious - or could be, at least, if it meant starting his day by sparring with her.

"I was being sarcastic just then, by the way," he prompted. Her hands went right back to her hips and she squared her shoulders towards him. He still couldn't see her face well, but her body language was back to confrontational. Excellent.

"By saying thank you? You're so obnoxious." That was better. If a bit repetitive. She usually had fresher material and a more precise wit than that.

"So you've said. Twice now. Hence my sarcasm."

His eyes still hadn't adjusted to the bright light behind her and her face was only in slightly better focus. He did see her lift one hand and hold up a single index finger. "I said it once, Fleischman. True, I'm always _thinking_ it, but I only _said_ it once." 

He smiled at her, trying still to get his eyes to focus, enjoying what sure always felt like flirting with her, dressed up as fighting like they usually did with it. He'd decided to finally admit to himself at the start of this year that he had a thing for her. Life was a lot easier with one fewer person to lie to. He'd never act on this impulse, of course, but there were worse vices to have than thinking Maggie O'Connell was sexy as hell and fun to flirt with. As long as he kept her from knowing he thought any of that, life was good.

"Uh huh," was his only retort. That was a weak effort, and he knew they could do better than that. He chummed with waters some with more bait. "Okay, you've made your delivery. Don't you have anything better to do today than stand around my waiting room?" 

"Plenty," she said, narrowing her eyes at him, eyebrow quirked up. He could see her well enough now to at least see her face a little...her eyes, and the smile starting to tug at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah right." He turned to head back into his office, trying to look as unaffected by her as possible. With any luck, his seeming disinterest would piss her off more and she might follow him in here to keep fighting.

_I bet we'd be incredible in bed together._

Well _that_ was new. He spun on his heel to face his waiting room again. " _What_ did you just say?"

"I said I had plenty to do this afternoon, thank you very much. I appreciate you assuming otherwise, of course, but I've already done a whole turnaround to Sitka, I still have the mail to deliver, and then I need to fix the timing belt in my -"

"No, just after that. What did you say after that?"

"I didn't say anything but 'plenty' just now, Fleischman." She looked annoyed still, and confused. Definitely not like she'd just said...well, what he heard her say.

"Yeah, but you did - you _did_! I heard you! You said...well...all that stuff you said!" He looked down at Marilyn, feeling himself blush. "I mean, _you_ heard what she said, right? About being incredible...and everything else?"

"Incredible?" Maggie threw her head back and laughed. "Your ego is so big, I'm surprised you fit out your own front door in the mornings. You aren't incredibly anything other than arrogant. And obnoxious, but we've covered that pretty thoroughly already."

"You said incredible! It was your adjective! Marilyn, you heard it right? What she said?"

"She just said "plenty'," Marilyn said. Disloyal as ever. But honest, usually. And not usually a willing collaborator of Maggie's. Joel decided he'd drop this, since he could hardly repeat what he'd heard - to either woman. _Thought_ he'd heard. Was he having auditory hallucinations now, too, in addition to talking to animals? Alaska was going to send him over the edge even sooner than he thought. He looked back at Maggie, who was still smirking at him, amused with how rattled she thought she'd already gotten him.

_I can just feel your lips against my neck sometimes._

He'd heard her - again - clear as a bell. Just like last time. Only he saw her face the whole time this time and hadn't blinked. Her lips hadn't moved. The expression on her face hadn't even changed. But he heard her voice, just as well as he had with everything else she'd said today. Her eyes were locked on his.

_I wonder if I'd call you 'Fleischman' or 'Joel' while we did it._

He felt his eyebrows raise. "O'Connell?" 

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? Look, I gotta go. Get started on the 'plenty' I have still to do today. _Including_ fixing that allegedly squeaky floorboard of yours so you'll stop whining about it. God forbid you do anything yourself. Solve your own problems. It would take you a crowbar, a shim, a hammer, and all of five minutes, tops."

She picked her knapsack up from Marilyn's desk, swinging it over her shoulder as she turned towards the door. "Bye Marilyn. See ya later, Fleischman. Unless you end up in the looney bin first."

"Bye, O'Connell," he said, watching her retreat, trying to convince himself he hadn't imagined what he'd just heard. And trying unsuccessfully to get the image it'd conjured out of his head. "I got a pile of work on my desk to get to anyway that this ridiculous conversation is keeping me from," he lied, hoping to sound haughty and superior.

_I'm so glad you don't know that I had that dream about us on that desk of yours last night. Again._

"What?!?"

She turned around, frowning and looking confused. "Okay, you're being really creepy today, Fleischman. What _what_ this time?"

Joel didn't say anything for several seconds - just stared at her, mouth agape. "You! You just said - well. What you did." His voice tapered off, staring at her in disbelief. Her gaze shifted to Marilyn. "Come on, now, I _know_ you heard that." Marilyn gave him a slow shake 'no' of her head, eyes a little wide.

"Take his temperature or something, will you, Marilyn? He's losing it a little." Maggie turned and left. "I'd say 'bye again, Fleischman, but I don't want to set you off and make you do anything weird again when I do..." 

The door slammed closed behind her and the blinds bounced against the window. He watched her make her start across Main towards Ruth Anne's store. 

"You really didn't _hear_ her just now?" Joel finally asked, mostly to himself, but hoping Marilyn might be able to corroborate everything for him. "What she said, I mean? About...my lips and my desk and...the incredible comment?"

"No."

"You didn't?"

"No."

"I _am_ losing it then," Joel said quietly, rubbing his eyes. "I distinctly heard her talking. Several times. You really didn't hear anything? Tell me the truth."

"No."

"Her lips weren't moving, but I swear I heard..." He sighed. God help him if he was developing a psychiatric problem out here. 

Marilyn looked at him a long while. "It was the raven."

Oh, God. He'd almost forgotten about _that_ lunacy, too. That made _two_ episodes of him being non compos mentis in a single hour today. Maybe there was a shrink in Anchorage or someone like that he could see. No, 'cause then she'd have to fly him there...

"What's that bird have to do with me hearing things O'Connell didn't actually say?"

"He draws secrets from shadows."

"And?"

"Maybe they're _hers_."

"What, the secrets?" He chuckled at the thought. "I really, really doubt that, Marilyn. 'Cause what she said was that she..." He paused. Hold on. Had he really just read her _thoughts_? Was that possible? It wasn't, of course, but if it somehow was and if he really could do it and _that's_ what was on her mind...well, now, that was very, very, _very_ interesting information, now, wasn't it?

"Okay, let's say for one second that I believe you. I _don't_ , but for the sake of argument, let's pretend like I do. Why would a bird grant me a little parlor trick like this? Reading thoughts?"

Marilyn shrugged. Joel looked out the front window and saw Maggie still making her way across the street. 

"But you're saying what I heard...that that's what she is actually thinking? And there's an important reason that I need to know that she is?"

"Could be."

"Interesting," Joel said, watching Maggie stop out front of Ruth Anne's store across the street, put her mail bag down, and run a hand through her hair. Was it possible that she had the hots for him? Maggie?? "Very interesting...how long does, uh, a raven's gift last a person, anyway?"

Marilyn shrugged again. "Until they've heard enough."

Joel knew hadn't heard nearly enough. Not of something like that. He looked across the street at the general store again. "Huh...do I have any early appointments today?"

"10:30." Ha! It was only 8:45.

"Great. I'm gonna run over to Ruth Anne's for... um. Some supplies. Band aids."

"We have three boxes."

"Oh. Right. Well...hydrogen peroxide then. We're out of that, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be right back."


	2. Hesitating Then No Longer

Maggie fumbled blindly in her bag for her key to the mail bin outside Ruth Anne's store. It was nearly impossible to find anything in this stupid thing - it was like big damn black hole in there. Everything it swallowed disappeared, it seemed, and she never once got what she was grabbing for on the first try. 

Despite that frustration, she was smiling. She'd gotten most of what she'd been hoping to out of dropping Joel's medical supplies off. Not only was he there and not busy with a patient, but they'd sparred. _And_ she'd managed to come out on top and leave him rattled. Plus he'd looked very cute. Not that that mattered. Or that anyone needed to know she thought so.

Her hands found the key at last and she leaned down to unlock the bin. The lock swung open and she lifted the lid to unload the two bundles inside.

It's not like she liked him. Not _liked_ liked him. Just because she'd admitted to herself he was cute. And fun to flirt with. The dreams were a little harder to ignore, though. And the stray thoughts she had sometimes. But no one had to know about those. Especially not him.

"Hey, O'Connell! Wait up!" _Speak of the devil_.  
He grinned at her. "What do you want? I have stuff to do today. None of which needs to involve you."

"Oh, come on, O'Connell. I just wanted to...uh..." 

She felt her eyebrow raise. _Yes? Get to the point, you idiot._

"I am, I am...I came to... uh, see if you needed help with the mail," he added after another pause. 

"You? Want to help _me_? Walk the mail around?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Because I thought you had a job already. A supposedly very important one. Your little medical practice over in that blue building there? I know you've told me - many, many times - how very difficult, time-consuming, and complex your chosen profession is. Only today, you suddenly have twenty minutes to help me with my undereducated, middling, mundane tasks? What gives?"

"I don't have any patients this morning. It's a nice day. I thought I'd get a little walk in. I know how fiercely you insist on self-reliance, and God forbid I imply you can't handle any of this on your own, but I thought you might like the company." He gave her that grin of his, where his eyes crinkled up at the corners and his dimples showed. _What's wrong with me? Why do I think you're as cute as you are?_

She could have sworn she saw his eyebrows raise slightly and smile broaden a little. 

"What? You're behaving oddly today. Even for you, Fleischman." 

He picked up one of her mail bags and slung it over his shoulder. Its weight tugged at his already-long shirtsleeves, making them seem even longer than they were. She smiled to herself. _Can't you find clothes that fit you? They're always a little too big. Do you take a slightly larger, slightly taller friend shopping with you and buy what fits that guy? Or are you just that obtuse and unaware of fit and fashion?_

She heard him chuckle next to her as she tossed the other bag over her shoulder and they started together down the sidewalk.

"You know... I lost about 15 pounds after I moved here. Elaine did all the cooking, and I just don't eat like I used to."

"So? What do I care?" That comment was a little to coincident for her taste, so she pivoted to a new subject. "And you're telling me you haven't bothered to learn to cook since your fiancee dumped you?"

"I know how to cook," he said, sounding defensive. "I just...don't. I don't know." He shifted the bag to his far shoulder. "It's a lot of trouble to go to for one person. And I'm busy."

"You are _not_." She looked at him shuffling along next to her. His eyes were on his feet and they were close enough their sleeves brushed against each other every so often. She was trying to seem unaffected by that.

So she'd had that... thought again last night. About him. Them. So sue her - she was a woman in her 20s - okay, _late_ 20s - who had normal urges and hadn't been with a guy in...well, awhile. A long while. And if she was stuck having a thing for him, well, she might as well enjoy it. It didn't cause problems. Unless she was around him in silence in too close of proximity like this. _Oh... and you smell really good today, too. Now I'm gonna be thinking about us again tonight._.

He coughed nervously next to her. "Look, O'Connell..."

"Yeah? What? Really, Fleischman, you're being really strange today. What gives?"

"Nothin'." His diction only got sloppy like this when he was drunk, flirting, or lying. Since it was 9 am, that left only two possibilities. Problem was, she wasn't sure which it was. "Just... look, can I ask you something? And if I do, will you be honest?"

 _Depends on what you ask_.

Something about the look in his eyes was unsettling. Cocky. Expectant. Overfamiliar, even, like he knew he had something on her that she didn't know about.

"Shoot, Fleischman," she said, feigning more confidence than she had, given that look he had.

"What do you think of me?" Damn it. 

"I don't." _Other than how I'd love to kiss that smug smirk right off your face._

"I see," he said, that self-satisfied smile of his growing. "And that's it? Last night for example..."

It almost felt like her heart skipped a beat. She concentrated hard on maintaining what she hoped was either a neutral or annoyed face.

"What about it?"

"I've never crossed your mind? In your evening hours?"

"No." _How could you possibly know about that!?_

He smiled a little bigger. 

"I said the answer was no. I don't know what you're smiling for, like it's gonna change." _You don't know about that. You couldn't. You're trying to freak me out, and I won't give you the satisfaction._

All of a sudden, a flash of black appeared in her peripheral vision, fluttered between them, and landed on the sidewalk before them. A black bird. Took a few steps, turned towards them and sat down right in the middle of the sidewalk.

"That's weird," she said, eyeing the thing. He was a pretty bird. Its dark feathers shined in the morning sunlight and its dark beak seemed to be angled up towards them, like it was looking at them. "That crow almost took your head off."

"It's a raven," Joel said, sounding disettled. 

"Well, aren't you the outdoorsman suddenly? When we're done nailing down its species, do want to talk about why it's sitting right there on the sidewalk, staring at us?"

"It's looking at me," Joel murmured, still sounding rattled. "I know that bird."

"Oh _do_ you, now? Well, this has all been very entertaining, very enlightening, Fleischman," she said, pulling the mail bag down from Joel's shoulder as he stood frozen next to her. "But I have work to do. When you get done talking to your feathered friend here, you might go back to doing yours. Thanks for carrying my bag 8 whole feet for me. It was a big help."

She walked down the street smiling to herself. He was sweet sometimes, when his arrogant exterior melted away like that. He'd gotten that way over the grouse, too. Maybe he had a soft spot for birds or something. The way she seemed to have for him. She looked over her shoulder, back towards where they'd been standing. He had crouched down in the middle of the sidewalk, sitting back on his heels, looking at the black bird that had surprised them both a minute ago. If she didn't know better, she'd almost swear he was talking to it. She stopped walking and turned hallway toward him, squinting to get a better look; his lips sure looked like they were moving. The bird rose suddenly, extended its wings out wide, and took flight. 

She turned the rest of the way back to look at Joel, who'd tipped his head skyward and was watching it go, flying up along Main Street, gaining altitude, before it turned suddenly over the roof of the Brick, and soaring out of sight. Joel rose to his feet and noticed her watching him for the first time. He gave her a chagrined smile.

"Chatting with your new friend, are you, Fleischman?" He blushed instantly, which she found herself charmed by. She squelched the impulse to smile. Having a crush on him was eminently benign, of course, as long as he had no idea. Nothing would come of it anyway. He didn't like her back. They had nothing in common. Well, not _much_. And anyway, he'd go his way in a few years more. She'd stay here. And they'd never work as a couple. There was no chance anything would ever come of this. Harmless fun. That's all this was. With an emphasis on the fun.

"Hey, uh," His voice and smile both wavered. "Have lunch with me, O'Connell? My treat."

"Uh...okay. Sure. Why not."

"'Kay. How 'bout 12:30?" 

There was that cute self-conscious smile again. And that fuzzy pronunciation of his. He still wasn't drunk and still wasn't lying, which left only one option. Okay. Maybe he did like her back. A little. That didn't change anything at all. Not that they had almost nothing in common and wouldn't work. Not that he was going back go New York and she was staying here. No, this was still just harmless fun. Very fun harmless fun. On which subject...

"Sure. I'll meet you there. And you can tell me all about your many feathered friends over lunch..."


	3. While I Pondered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid to late season 4

She felt his hand on her shoulder and jumped, immediately hoping he hadn't noticed. It's not like she'd forgotten he was there; that he was next to her is why she'd hardly slept. She'd spent the night. She hadn't really wanted to, not after how everything had happened, but... but how does one politely say, "Thanks, but sex with you was more than enough awkwardness for me for one twenty-four hour period. I don't need to wake up next to you tomorrow, too."

"Morning."

She tried to conceal jumping again. He was being so polite. He _was_ polite. Polite. Caring. Good-natured. Thoughtful. Open-minded. Kind. Brave. Accepting. Everything Joel wasn't. 

He rubbed her shoulder after several seconds of her saying nothing. "You awake, Maggie?" His touch immediately brought back images from last night. She winced a little, inwardly.

 _And awful at sex_ , Maggie added, to her mental list of Mike's attributes. He was particularly unlike Joel in that regard. It hadn't just been a first time thing. She'd given him a second chance, but... no better. Passionless, uninspired, uncreative... Hell, he was even a bad kisser.

"Yeah," she added, hearing her voice sound terse. This wasn't his fault, and she knew she shpuld be nicer. She tried hard to moderate her tone and sound more cheerful. "I'm up."

 _Why did I stay_ , she wondered? _Better question - why did I push so hard to make this happen with someone I am just not attracted to that way_? She should have felt happy. Last night had been long in the making; her very own handiwork coming to life after months and months of effort. She could pinpoint exactly the moment she'd decided to sleep with Mike Monroe. It was the day after she'd met him, too. Not that meeting him had a damn thing to do with fixing her sights on starting a relationship with him, of course...

 _I should have seen it coming_ , he'd said to her, with a smirk. _The crush. The infatuation._

How dare he act like he knew her like that? How dare he _know_ her like that, really.

_He's handsome, flawed, and totally inaccessible. He's perfect for you._ Asshole. 

So it had been challenge accepted. If he hadn't said it so smugly... If he hadn't been so dismissive of Mike's condition and so quick to judge... If he hadn't said all that he had like he knew her so well.... If he hadn't said it like he thought he had enough of her already that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell she'd actually follow through with anything... It was that last one especially that had done it. Only now Joel wasn't here. And it was Mike fondly stroking her shoulder and laying next to her in bed. While she thought about Joel.

"I'm glad you stayed," he offered up, making her feel even more uncomfortable for having her mind still fixed on Joel. Mike's niceness only reminded her how much his opposite she truly was. And how much closer she was, deep down, to cynical, sarcastic, emotionally stunted Joel Fleischman. And how maybe that's who she really wanted, if she was being honest. She'd been thinking about Joel last night, too. At the most inopportune possible time. _Both_ inopportune times.

"Can I make you breakfast," he said softly, trailing his fingertips lightly down her arm. She jumped in response, and he laughed fondly.

"Sorry. You ticklish?"

She wasn't a damn bit ticklish. His touch had felt like fire against her skin, only not in a good way. Not like Joel's had that afternoon in the barn. And therein laid her problem. He wasn't Joel. And every bit about this moment was. At least for her.

"Actually, Mike, I, uh..." She sat up quickly, smoothing down the t-shirt she'd worn over here last night against her. He'd offered her a shirt - some undyed pure natural fiber beige thing of his - but she couldn't stand the thought of wearing his clothes. Just like she couldn't quite stand the thought of laying next to him right now.

"I have a flight at 9. I'm sorry. I forgot all about it until just now. I haven't mapped my flight plan, even, and the FAA'll get all over you if you don't get it logged with traffic control at least 30 minutes before take-off. So. So I'd better go. But thanks. Really. It was nice of you to offer. And...and last night. Well, that was... nice, too. Really nice. Really."

While she babbled, she'd stood up and was looking around the floor for the long floral skirt she'd worn over here. She was dressing as quickly as she could and trying not to appear frantic. She had to get the hell out of here now.

"Oh, okay. See you tonight maybe?"

"No!" Shit. "I mean... I'd love to, of course, but... I can't. I have... uh a, book club meeting. I'll call you tomorrow, though. Really. We can set something up. Maybe for Friday? Really, I will." All of that sounded like the most obvious brush off in the world. The word 'really' peppered heavily throughout the conversation sure seemed to underscore that she didn't believe a fucking word she was saying. Which, of course, she didn't. Surely he could tell. She turned to look guiltily at Mike. He was smiling besottedly at her, oblivious. _And far less observant than Joel_ , she added to the growing differences list.

"Have a good flight," he said. 

"Yeah. Okay. You, too," she said, distractedly, making her way towards his door. "I mean, not you too, but...well, have a nice day."

She hightailed it out his interior door into the airlock. She was rattled enough that she had to unlatch the exterior door three different times before it took. She tried to ignore the obvious analogy to being in a prison all of this presented and fled to her truck when it finally yielded. She didn't feel like her breathing had gone back to its regular pace until she was halfway home. Well, she'd ended up being right, and she'd proved Joel wrong. Mike wasn't unaccessable. Only being right about that felt very, very wrong right now. 

She turned the radio on, trying to drown out the sound of her own thoughts with Chris' morning selections. It worked well enough as a temporary salve, and, anyway, it was a pretty short drive home. 

Once there, she parked her truck and started towards her front steps. Just as she moved to ascend the first one, she saw it. A black bird, perched right on the top step. Not even perched but...almost laying there. She froze and watched it. It didn't move, and for a second she thought it might be dead. Then she saw it breathing. Was it hurt? It didn't seem afraid or in pain. It was just looking her. 

"Hey there, little guy," she said cautiously, half-expecting the sudden noise to frighten it into flying away. It just blinked at her and maintained its gaze. "Are you okay?"

She took a cautious step forward, extending her hand this time, again expecting the creature's imminent and panicked departure. It didn't budge. 

"You're a pretty thing, aren't you? Or handsome. I'm sorry; I'm not sure which to call you." Regardless of the proper adjective, it _was_ quite a sight. Shiny black feathers that matched its dark beak. Its head was turned to the side so one intelligent-seeming and pensive eye could watch her. She looked around her porch. No other birds. She wasn't sure if it would have been more or less strange if a whole flock had taken up residence here, versus just this one. 

She took another slow step, paused, and then took another. The second one took her to the top step, her foot mere inches away from the unmoving bird. 

"I have a bag of sunflower seeds inside. Would you like some of those? I can get 'em for you," she said. Ever Jane O'Connell's daughter - ever the hostess, she thought with a wry smile. She moved past the bird and unlocked her front door before rummaging through her kitchen cabinets for a half-finished bag of seeds she'd stowed from back when she'd quit smoking. They were probably stale, but beggars couldn't really be choosers. Not that the bird seemed hungry...

She looked through her open front door at the bird. It had turned around and was facing her again, laying again on its breast against her porch. Still making that unwavering eye contact it had, its head turned slightly to the side. 

"Here you go. I'm not sure you even eat seeds, come to think of it... or how you'll unshell 'em. But here." She crouched down and gently laid the handful of seeds in front of the bird, who still didn't move. 

It had to be a raven, she thought. Certainly not a blackbird or a grackle. He was big - bigger, even, than a standard crow. It reminded her of that bird that had greeted she and Joel last year, flying right between them before landing almost at their feet on Main.

"Are you the same guy that met me and Fleischman by Ruth Anne's store? He was sitting down, too. Just like you are. I didn't think birds did that." She smiled at the memory - of the bird and the long lunch she and Joel had lingered over together for two hours that afternoon. That all felt like a long time ago, last year - before they'd kissed in Juneau, before he'd saved her life and looked at her the way he had in the hospital, before she'd brought him to Michigan with her, before everything had gotten far too loaded and far too complicated between them. Before Mike.

"Tell me the truth, was he talking to you that day," she added, moving to sit down on her porch as she remmebered what she thought she'd seen that day. "I know he was." It occurred to her just then that she was hardly in a position to feel superior to Joel on this point - crouched down on her own damn front porch, talking to a wild bird. 

The bird blinked twice at her. Weren't ravens symbols? She tried to remember what she knew about ravens. It wasn't much, outside of the Poe poem they'd studied in 9th grade English. The raven was a symbol for lost love and grief. Well, shit. Hopefully, that wasn't the point of this.

"Are you here because of him," she asked more softly. "Because of him and me, I mean?" Her guilty conscience supplied the next question. "Is this about Mike?"

She could have sworn the thing nodded at her. Surely it meant something else, this bird on her damn doorstep. Something less literary, less depressing than _that_. If only she knew someone who knew birds and wouldn't automatically write this story off as crazy...

Marilyn! She was Tlingit. They had a long and colorful relationship with the raven in her culture. Maybe this was some kind of an omen or a harbinger. For something not to do with Joel or Mike. Marilyn'd know for sure. If she could just get to talk to her when Joel was busy and wouldn't overhear. Speaking of people who'd automatically assume she was crazy...

She went back inside and called Joel's office number, trying to think how she'd ask Marilyn when she'd be free while Joel was busy without explaining why. They were comfortable acquaintances but not the sort of friends that called to talk to each other on phone or even scheduled time for each other. 

"Dr. Fleischman's office," came Joel's voice, startling her. _He_ wasn't supposed to answer.

"Where's Marilyn?"

 _Oh it's you_ , came his irritated response.

"Real friendly, Fleischman," she said, feeling herself both bristle and perk up as his combative response. She missed scrapping with him over petty transgressions. Their fights lately were depressingly high stakes. "Why are you answering your own phone in the third person like that, anyway?"

 _I do not have the patience for this today_ , she heard him say, followed almost instantly by, "How're you doin', O'Connell?"

"I'm fine. Despite trying your patience, apparently."

"What're you talking about?"

"What you just said."

"I just asked how you were. I promise, I won't do it again." He was such a grouch and had zero people skills. He shouldn't be answering his office phone. He wouldn't be, either, unless Marilyn weren't there.

"So where's Marilyn?"

"Late. Which should be obvious, since I'm answering my own phone." 

_I really hope you haven't slept with him_.

"What?!"

"What what? I try not to answer my phone. That's Marilyn's job. And before you lecture me on what an arrogant misogynist that makes me..."

"No, no, no. What you said before that. Who him?"

"Who him who?"

"You _just_ said..."

 _I can't argue with you like this anymore, O'Connell. It hurts too bad to pretend things are fine between us._ "I didn't say anything. Look. I see Marilyn crossing the street right now, headed in, and I've got a 8:30, a 9:00, and a 9:30, so I'm gonna go. Call her back if you need something from her. It's been a little slice of heaven talking to you, as always. Bye."

What the hell was that about? Maybe it wasn't just her that was losing it. He'd probably just blurted it out so fast, he hadn't realized what he said. Was he upset with her? _That_ upset? Maybe that's what the bird was all about. Well, that did it. She picked her knapsack back up off the kitchen table, slung it over her shoulder, and marched right back out her front door. She stepped carefully over her new feathered friend and descended her front stairs.

She turned to look back at her bird. "If you won't tell me why you're here, then I'll just ask Marilyn." He'd turned again and was facing outward towards her front yard again. It seemed to watch her get in her truck and back down her drive. It was still there as she turned the corner towards Main.


	4. Leave My Loneliness then Unbroken

"You're late," he said, knowing he sounded annoyed with Marilyn and not caring. Maggie's call had pissed him off as an apt finish to a shitty morning. Driving by her place on his way in and seeing that her truck wasn't there at 7 was its foreboding start. Why in the hell would she call him right after...doing that? 

She was fucking the guy already. Of course she was. He knew she was going to eventually. Even so, he'd stupidly thought their little...tête-à-tête in the barn the other day might have changed her mind about him. Both of them. It had sure made him more certain than ever before what his problem was.

No. Nevermind. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. She especially didn't matter. She was inconsequential to him. Sure, they'd had a little flirtation early on. And there'd been whatever happened in Juneau and just after. And, yeah, he'd been worried enough about her with her appendix thing to forget himself for a night or several and let himself care about her like that. Develop feelings. Feelings that were clearly not reciprocated and that only let her walk all over him. On the topic of being bullied by women, he realized Marilyn hadn't ever answered him.

"You aren't going to explain yourself," he snapped at Marilyn tersely. "You're just gonna stroll in here twenty minutes later like -"

His door chimed open, and Walt entered. His 8:30 appointment, he supposed. Walt had managed to arrive on time. Early, even. Marilyn could learn a thing or two. He gave up on getting her to see the error of her ways and took Walt into the exam room.

After twenty five minutes and a full check-up of what always surprised him to be a very healthy, vibrant, and un-frail man in his 70s, he opened the door a little and reached for Walt's coat on the hook.

"Those pamphlets free to take," Walt asked, gesturing at Joel's display of literature on top of the storage cabinet. 

"Uh, yeah. Why, you wanna read about menopause? A heart healthy diet?"

"No," Walt said in his distinctively raspy voice. "But I would relieve ya of that one just next to it."

"About dementia? Why? You aren't concerned about..." Joel hated this part of the job. Healing was his calling - he was still altogether uncomfortable with death and decline. "Look, Walt, it's perfectly normal to get a little forgetful as we age. It's a problem when you don't remember you've forgotten, and I haven't seen any sign that you..."

"No, no. My brother's concerned for his wife, though. Sad situation..."

"Oh," Joel said softly. "I'm so sorry. Here," he passed him the pamphlet. "It's yours. Let me know if you have any questions I can help with...or..." He trailed off and watched Walt reading quietly to himself and nodding somberly. Okay, maybe there were worse things than Maggie choosing Mike over him.

As if thinking about her had conjured her into being, he recognize her voice floating in from his waiting room. It was quiet - a stark contrast to her usual brash and stident way of expressing herself. Her trying not to be heard just made him want to hear her all the more. He moved to stand next to the cracked door and strained to hear. He only managed to catch a few words.

"...symbol... bird... what's it mean... can't tell me ...don't have any secrets...."

"Thanks, Doc," Walt said, rising. "I can take this with me?"

"Oh, yeah. 'Course." Joel snapped back into caretaker mode and lifted Walt's coat up, offering to help him shrug into it. The older man waved him off and took it from his hands. Independent as ever. He pulled the door open and exited.

"Hey, Walt!" _That_ was more the O'Connell voice he knew. Brash, loud, enthusiastic. He sighed. If he hid in here, he could avoid seeing her. He couldn't quite stomach it today. Not after knowing she'd gotten serious with Mike. And slept with him. Not just slept with him but stayed overnight, too. Like they were in an actual relationship that had nothing to do with her messing with his head. He busied himself changing out the exam table paper, wiping down his stethoscope, and tidying up. 

"Hey, Fleischman," came her voice from the doorway.

 _Fuck, now she's gonna corner me into talking_. He sighed and turned around. The look on her face was strange - surprised and almost hurt seeming.

"I'm not. But are you okay, Fleischman?" Her tone was gentle, caring. Her eyes were sincere, and her hands were fidgeting nervously with the zipper at the bottom of her open jacket. _Like you give a shit_ , he thought. Her eyebrows raised a little, and he could have sworn he saw pity flash through her eyes. His face must be giving him away.

"What do you want, O'Connell?" He turned back around and started rearranging jars of cotton swabs and q-tips that didn't really need his attention to keep from looking at her. "I'm busy. Thought you came to see Marilyn anyway."

"I did. But there's no reason I can't see you, too, while I'm at it," she said with a faux-cheerfulness that betrayed how uncomfortable she really seemed. 

_You seem to have the same approach to sexual partners_ , he thought to himself, trying to figure out what might be a more appropriate response.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, you jerk," she said angrily, her voice suddenly raised and sharp. He turned around, and her eyes were shooting daggers at him. 

"What, 'I'm busy'? It means I'm busy. So, thanks for the visit and all of that, but I need to get ready for my next patient now. In peace." _And I can't look at you a second longer without worrying that I'm gonna ask you why him. Why him and not me, O'Connell?_

Her mouth dropped open, and he pushed past her through the door and across the hall into his office. He opened his filing cabinet and started rifling through for his next patient's file. Like he needed it. He had the medical histories of just about everyone memorized at this point.

"Fleischman?" She was in his doorway. Trapping him into a new room, determined to make him uncomfortable this morning. 

"What do you need, O'Connell," he said, pulling the file he'd located out of the drawer with a flourish. He opened it and trained his eyes on the page, not really reading. _I can't believe this has happened to me twice now. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you'd be one do it._

"I..." She sounded really rattled. He looked at her, and she was staring at him, eyes wide. "I mean, I thought you might want to have lunch with me later."

 _More than anything_. "No. Thanks."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, smiling finally. "Okay, which is it, then? Yes or no?"

"What are you, deaf? I said no. I'm busy all day."

"Look, Fleischman, I don't know what's going on with you, but..."

_Yes, you do._

She frowned. "I really don't."

 _You're an awful liar, O'Connell_ , he thought, _Even if you are the most beautiful woman I know._

"What?"

"O'Connell, I'm not saying a word. You're talking to yourself. A timely bit of psychosis because, as I know I've mentioned several times, I am busy. So if the two of you could just move along, continue your conversation elsewhere, and leave me alone..."

Joel pushed past her again into the hallway. 

"Marilyn, is my 9:00 here?"

"Next," came Marilyn's answer. 

_Why couldn't O'Connell have been like Marilyn? Taciturn, dispassionate, uncommunicative. Maybe then I wouldn't have gotten my heart broken again. Then again, I wouldn't have fallen for her like I did._...

A logger in a plaid shirt pushed past Joel into the exam room, and Joel started in after him. 

"Fleischman, wait." She was behind him again, her voice soft and cautious. 

_At least now I don't have to seriously consider staying here anymore..._. "Sorry, O'Connell. Some other time maybe." He entered his exam room and closed the door behind him. It was bad enough he'd gotten stuck here. Being stuck on her when she was with someone else...well, he'd always wonder what he'd done to incur this much bad karma.

He took a deep breathe, dug deep, and found a smile for his next patient, trying desperately to forget her. And everything between them. Again.

It was a quick appointment - flu shot who was in and out in 5 minutes. Joel followed him to the waiting room and wished him a nice day with more enthusiasm than he actually felt. Marilyn was quietly reading a magazine, and his presence didn't seem to register. Or she was giving him the silent treatment. It was a fine line with Marilyn. The last thing he needed was the _other_ woman in his life to hate him, too, though, and he sighed and turned to face her.

"Hey, Marilyn. Look. I'm... I'm sorry about earlier. I'm just having a kind of bad...nevermind. I'm sorry. Really. Okay?"

"Okay." She didn't look up, but her acceptance sounded sincere. He owed her a little more in the way of collegial conversation, so he leaned against her desk and tried to find something of mutual interest to discuss. Unfortunately, one topic always seemed top of mind.

"What'd O'Connell want before? She called looking for you before she came in."

"To talk."

"Yeah? What about?" If he had to guess, Joel figured he said 85 percent of the words they exchanged. If he'd been more organized and less determined to believe he'd be leaving so soon, he should have started tracking that kind of data right when he hired her.

"Ravens."

" _Rav_ ens? She came all the way down here first thing in the morning to talk birds with you?"

Marilyn shrugged. 

"Where was she headed, do you know?" That sounded the precise opposite of casual. _Joel, get a grip. You're giving your receptionist the third degree about a girl like a lovesick high schooler_. 

Just as he started to say "nevermind," she pointed out the window. "Mail."

Joel stepped to his door and used his fingers to spread open the cheap venetian blinds that hung across its window. He peeked through and saw Maggie across the street, down on her knees next to Ruth Anne's outdoor package box. Only she wasn't loading or unloading boxes. She was talking to a...

"Is that a raven?" Wait. She'd called in a panic wanting to talk ravens with Marilyn? And then driven all the way here? Joel whirled back around quickly. 

"She was visited," Marilyn added quietly, answering the question he'd been about to ask. "Just like you."

He thought back through the conversation he and Maggie had shared, trying to remember if he brain had betrayed any thoughts it shouldn't have. He'd been moping all morning about her apparent overnight. Shit, had it been that much on his mind that she'd found out? He couldn't remember, he'd been trying so hard to not let her see how hurt he'd been. Was. 

"Do they all do the same thing when they come? Ravens, I mean. Not crazy bush pilots."

"Reveal secrets?"

"Yeah, or let you hear someone's thoughts like I did that time?" He had to know, could Maggie have heard his? 

"You could hear her thoughts that time?"

Marilyn's response was so surprised, so incredulous, especially considering she was never that way about anything, even truly surprising things, that he backed immediately off what he'd said. He didn't need her to think that he'd gone all the way around the bend already.

"No. Of course not. That's nuts. And I'm sure she couldn't either," he said, not at all convinced. "Anyway, I... I've got some medical journals to catch up on. 9:30 is the next appointment, right?"

"Right."

"Okay," he turned to walk back into his office. Hide in his office, really, given that conversation. And his misery over Maggie.

"You are free for lunch," came Marilyn's voice. "If you want to meet Maggie."

Joel felt his shoulders tense up a little. "Thanks, Marilyn. I know I am, though. It's just not a very good idea right now, I don't think. Messengers with secrets in their feathers or not..." He didn't know what to say next, but he didn't really want to sit alone in his office quite yet. After a long pause, he asked, "O'Connell still talking to that bird across the street?" "No. She's looking over here... seems sad." Joel nodded. He'd give her that she had at least pretended to feel bad. Even if she'd done it all on purpose. He forced away the thought that maybe she was sorry and, if she cared enough to feel that way, then maybe she did care a little more than he was giving her credit for. No. She didn't give a damn, and he was going to try not to either. "When the raven comes," Marilyn continued quietly. "The holy men listen. They know that what the eye sees isn't always the truth. And that the raven can always see things for what they are. Even when we can't."

Joel shuffled into his office and shut the door behind him quietly. He knew damn well what he saw this morning, and he'd seen plenty. Just like, across the street, she knew what she'd heard.


	5. Presently My Soul Grew Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mid season 5

"Fleischman..."

She breathed his name against his lips as he kept kissing her languidly. She was trying to sound as scolding she could muster, which was pretty half-hearted and all but drowning in that fondly amorous tone of hers. He might actually emerge victorious on this tonight after all; he was determined to try, at least.

He tilted his head the opposite way and continued, noting that she altered the angle of hers to mirror his change. Her lips met his first after they'd shifted, too. _Some protest, O'Connell_ , he thought, smiling. The mid-March air was cold, and their breath was fogging the air around them in the dim light of his porch. They were almost ensconced in their own little world, which made it all the easier to focus on her and his goal of getting her to come back inside.

"This is _not_ a good night kiss..." God, did he love that tone of voice. Part-murmured, part-purred with just a hint of that strident, combative thing she did that he loved so much. He made each kiss linger just long enough that he could feel her lips chase his each time he pulled back. He was in absolutely no hurry, both because he was enjoying himself and still mentally phrasing and rephrasing the question he was trying to get the courage up to ask her. He was happy to take a break for a little playful banter, though.

"We're kissing. It's dark out. And I had a good night with you," he paused, kissing her again briefly before continuing. "A _great_ night, actually. So this meets all three definitional elements of a goodnight kiss, as far as I'm concerned."

"Mmmmm," was her response. Another sound he absolutely savored, that low hum that came from deep in her throat. It was eight weeks now that they'd been dating - that odd stage he'd heard about but never really experienced himself, where everything was still brand new but also extremely familiar all at once. "Very scientific, but, no. I know you. What _this_ kiss is saying is, _I'm trying to get you back in bed_ ," she said, pulling back to smile at him, like she thought she'd won that little contest. He leaned back in and kissed her again.

"You're projecting, O'Connell. I didn't say anything like that," he said, his hands drifting down her back to her waist. He truly wasn't angling for what she'd just accused him of (although he wasn't stupid and wouldn't refuse her if she offered again). He just wanted her to stay - to spend the night with him. He wanted to feel her next to him as he slept and to wake up next to her. He had for awhile, only he'd chickened out the last three times he'd wanted to ask. _Not this time_ , he prodded himself. "But, um, while we're on the topic..." He felt suddenly nervous. 

"Fleischman, it's almost midnight. So, appealing as this little last-minute charm offensive of yours is - and believe me, it's working, despite my what used to be my better judgment - I should really go home." Damn. Did she still not know where he was going with this? He suddenly felt twelve years old again, palms sweating and heart starting to race.

"Hold on, O'Connell..."

She laughed then as she let her head fall against his chest, hugging him close as she did. That new laugh was one he'd rarely heard before they started up - the one where even, as now, when it came at his expense, there was a fondness and a familiarity to it. Another new 'something' he loved that he'd never known he'd been missing before. Only right now, it made him worry that they weren't on the same page on this topic.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she said, stroking her fingers along his back as she pushed herself back go stand and grin at him. God, was she ever beautiful. "You're just not usually anywhere near this tenacious about getting laid. Particularly after you just have. Twice in the same night. But it's late. So goodnight, Fleischman." She kissed him once more, unwound her arms from his shoulders, turned, and started down his steps.

"Wait. No," he said, sounding whiny. She looked surprised but still also very amused, and he moved fast to try to get this whole thing onto the right track again. "O'Connell. Just hold on a second and hear me out." She kept facing him but was still walking backwards towards her truck, like a visual manifestation of his losing battle.

"What're you scared of the dark all of a sudden? Do you need me to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story?" All he could do if he wanted to retain any hope of getting his way tonight was come clean, which just made his palms sweat again. 

"O'Connell, no, I..." _Joel, stop being a coward and just tell her._ "I just meant you could stay. I'd really like you to."

"Uh huh," she said, moving her keys from one hand to another but still retreating from his porch. "Look, at the risk of sounding like we might actually agree about something, I had a great night with you, too. But it's late, we both have to work tomorrow, so we can't stay up and do that again. No matter how much you managed to get me to actually considering taking you up on it. Look, I'll see you tomorrow night, okay? My place. Seven."

Soon after, her tail lights disappeared down his drive, and he turned to head in, feeling cowardly and defeated, despite an otherwise great night. He replayed their date in his mind as he brushed and readied himself for bed. They'd had fun. They usually did anymore. He'd even cooked for her - a rarity for him. Nothing hard, just pasta, but she seemed to like it. They'd watched about twelve minutes of the movie she'd rented. Only now, he laid awake, tossing and turning alone on sheets that still smelled like her, trying to figure out how the hell, at 31 years old, he couldn't quite bring himself to say to his own girlfriend, "I want you to start spending the night."

He woke in much the same manner in which he'd fallen asleep - unsettled, overtired, and thinking mostly of her. One immediately obvious difference, though, was the raven perched atop his chest of drawers. 

"What the hell?!" He shouted, jumping enough at the sight of it that he almost fell out of his own bed. Black and looming there unexpectedly, he almost screamed, thankful for the first time several hours she _hadn't_ ended up staying and witnessing this admittedly emasculating display. "What is it with this place and birds?" 

Like the one last time, it was perched comfortably and placidly watching him with wise-seeming eyes. Come to think of it, this all reminded him _quite_ a bit of last time. So much so, he tilted his head to the side and then stifled a smile when the damn thing did the same thing. It was the same one. He knew it was. _How_ he knew that, he wasn't sure, but he knew it all the same.

"Hey, you're not...right? Or are you? I mean, there's lots and lots of birds in Alaska and..." Why was he even bothering with this charade? It was the same damn bird. "Okay, fine, but if it _is_ you, why're you here? Again?" He sat up and squinted at the thing. It blinked back at him. 

"My point is, last time you came, you made it so I could hear everything she was thinking for about an hour. And, don't get me wrong, that was very interesting information at the time. _Very_ interesting. But if you came to do that again, I'm not sure I need the help. 'Cause she and I are... well, we're dating now." 

Why was he sharing his life story with a fucking bird? Alaska had almost completely robbed him of his sanity, obviously, that's why. Despite this raging psychosis, he couldn't hold back the smile at being able to say they were dating. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to say that. He hadn't even told his own mother about them yet, although she obviously had her suspicions. This bird, though - well, he felt he had total license to tell talk to it about them. 

"What I mean is," he said continuing, as if this damn thing could somehow understand him, let alone his problems with women, "We're doing okay, she and I. Really okay. Much better than...I don't know, back when you showed up on my porch that time, for example. All I'm saying is, I hardly think I need to be able to read the woman's mind at this point." He paused again, considering his words and the constant guessing game dating Maggie had revealed itself to be. Confirmation she was attracted to him suddenly paled in comparison to knowing what in the hell she thought was going on with them - now or in the future. "Although..."

The bird blinked again and resettled himself on Joel's dresser, as if he knew the conversation might take a long while. Joel pushed himself up to a half-seated position, as if his body had decided to commit to this ludicrous conversation even as his mind was still deciding. This was so fucking nuts, Joel reminded himself. Starting with the fact he had no one to talk to about Maggie other than a bird. Even so, beggars could hardly be choosers and the woman was an enigma.

"Okay, the thing is, we _are_ doing okay, she and I. Great, actually. We..." Joel felt himself blush, as if his present conversation weren't ridiculous enough already. "Really. The thing is, though, if you're here to dole out secrets again, I do kind of want to know if she thinks..." The bird blinked again, almost as if it were letting Joel know it was still listening. 

"Fleischman?" 

Both Joel and the bird started at the sudden noise and turned their heads towards his door. Maggie. What was she doing here? 

"Are you still asleep? It's 8 am on a Wednesday."

Joel's eyes went back to the raven who blinked once more, stood, spread his wings, and took flight. He looped the perimeter of Joel's bedroom ceiling once and then flew right out his door to the living room

"Are you even here, Fleisch-" Maggie interrupted herself with a yelp, presumably having seen the bird. "Oh my God! Fleischman?!"

Joel jumped out of bed and headed for his bedroom door, where he ran headlong into Maggie running in, looking over her shoulder as she moved. 

"Oof. Jeez, sorry, Fleischman," she said, stopping her forward momentum with a palm pressed against his chest. "Did you see that bird? Was it in here with you?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to remember what his reaction to finding a bird inside should be. Certainly not calmness. Or disappointment that it left before they could finish their conversation. Or excitement over the improbable reality that he'd get to read her mind a second time. Speaking of which. _C'mon, O'Connell, calm down about the bird and go back to thinking about why you came_.

"I'm calm. How'd that thing get in here?" She asked, pushing back from him a half step before frowning down at his rumpled t-shirt and boxers. "Why aren't you dressed yet? Did you forget to set your alarm last night or something?"

 _No, I stayed up half the night cursing myself for being such a fucking indecisive coward, so slept right through the damn thing_ , he thought. "Yeah, I think so."

Her eyes and frown drifted back up to his face. "'Cowardly', are we, on top of being late?"

"Oh, come on. I chased that thing out of here. I was hardly cowardly. And I'm only a little late."

"You said it, not me. It's lucky I brought you breakfast, since you're late." She held up an unmarked brown bag temptingly, smiling, before turning around and heading for his kitchen. "I need your toaster, though. And I know this isn't 'real' cream cheese, but it's cream cheese, so you'll just have to make do and try to contain some of your whining. The bagels are very real, at least; I snuck a couple out of your last overnighted shipment and froze 'em for emergencies. It's not perfect, but you have to give me credit it for making the effort, at least."

 _You brought me actual, honest-to-God New York bagels to surprise me with for breakfast? God, I love you, O'Connell._ "Really? Hey, thanks."

She stopped so fast on her walk to the kitchen, she stumbled and he was certain she'd tripped on the pair of tennis shoes he'd sometimes lazily leave in the middle of the floor on his way to bed. She spun around looking a lot like she had seconds after almost getting decked by the exiting bird. Shocked.

" _What_ did you just say?"

He chuckled a little before walking up to her. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her in close. He almost went in for a kiss before remembering he'd just rolled out of bed and not yet brushed his teeth. He aimed for her forehead instead. "I just said thanks for breakfast." He gave her sides a playful squeeze to deflect a little from the sincerity of his thank you.

She just blinked at him in silence, reminding him of the bird. Only she looked a lot more surprised than it ever had. He also wasn't getting anything in the way of her internal monologue. The woman was constantly thinking, too, so maybe the mind-reading had been a one-time-only trick. Or took a couple of minutes before it kicked in. Worst-case, it had been a completely different bird and he had a raven-sized hole in his house.

"What? I'm not _that_ self-centered in your mind, am I?" He turned and headed back through his bedroom door on his way to wash his face and brush his teeth. "I do have ability to say thank you when the gesture warrants it. Which this does - that was very sweet of you. And if you give me 5 minutes to wash up, I'll come help you defrost them."

"No, no," she said, sounding a little more like herself again, even though her eyes looked surprised still. "I don't trust your cooking enough to see how you defrost things. I'll do it."

"Okay. Be right out." _You better hope that was just some fluke, O'Connell. 'Cause I've got about a thousand things I wish I knew that you might be thinking right now..._.


End file.
